


July 4th 2016

by nutalexfanfic



Series: Twilight's Last Gleaming [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dapper Lexa, F/F, Fourth of July, Happy Ending, Healing, Healing Sex, Love at First Sight, happy clexa, this is a series of snapshots of Clexa's July 4ths through the years, this is their first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutalexfanfic/pseuds/nutalexfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snapshots of Clexa's July 4ths through the years. Mostly happy celebrations with friends and family, but some angst here and there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

 

It’s supposed to make her feel better. A _distraction,_ her mother had called it. Instead, it’d all just been draining. The late night phone call from her parents, the subsequent flight confirmation from them in her inbox, the text making sure she would show up to the airport, asking Raven for a ride there and deflecting the pitiful glances the whole way. The flight was long and bumpy, the cab-ride from the airport to her childhood home, long and stifling. Her parents looked at her with love and worry and more _godamn pity_ when she stepped out into the drive way. It made her stomach churn and her chest throb _._

There were pictures of him still in her room, _that asshole,_ and when she tore them from her mirror it only made her more furious, more broken, more drained.

 

Her parents hadn’t bought her a return flight, had just told her to come and play it by ear, “see how you feel in a couple of weeks,” her mother had said on that late night phone call. But now as she sat at the breakfast bar with her father’s sad smile accompanying the chocolate chip pancakes he pushed towards her, she wondered if she’d even make it a day.

 

“Did your mother tell you about the country club July 4th celebration?”

 

Clarke nods and picks at her breakfast. It’s supposed to make her feel better. _Feel better,_ she commands herself. She feels herself droop further.

 

“Will you come with us? Could be good for you. A nice…distraction.”

 

She swirls the perfectly cooked, golden pancake chunks around with her fork. “I’ll let you know.”

 

He nods and squeezes her forearm before going to find her mother. She can hear them whispering in the next room and she clenches her eyes shut. Her nostrils flair. _Feel better. Feel better._

 

//

 

Her mother figures out what the problem with the dress is before she does. “Maybe we should try a different color?”

 

Clarke stands in the mirror and smooths the front of the dress, repeatedly. It fits her well, it’s a beautiful cut and a delicate, white lace that makes her feel, admittedly, very pretty. It’s like many of the dresses she’d worn for these type of occasions growing up. But today it feels raw on her skin. She smooths it down, cocks to the side and looks at the back of it. Something feels so tight in her throat it makes her eyes sting.

 

Abby watches her nervously, her hands wringing in front of her. “How about this one?”

 

Clarke turns and studies the red, white and navy blue number her mother holds up.

 

“It’s less…well, it doesn’t look like—,”Abby stumbles.

 

“I’ll try it.” She cuts her mother off and grabs the dress, rushing off into the dressing room before any more can be said.   When she slips it on and looks at herself, she feels a wave of relief. She hadn’t realized just how hard it had been to breathe in the other until she took took in a deep, calming breath. _Feel better,_ she demands of herself. “You’re okay,” she mutters.  

 

//

 

She feels like she’s a little girl again, trailing behind her parents as they stroll onto the country club’s front lawn, her eyes flicking nervously between the unfamiliar faces. The Griffins had money, so it’s not like she’s _totally_ out of her element, but she was never one for the extravagant show. In fact, she was embarrassed by her wealth more often than not and being in these kinds of environments made her chest clench with each shallow breath.

 

Rich, old people. Often synonymous with ‘judgmental people.’ She could feel their eyes on her and she told herself it was just paranoia. But when one of Abby’s work friends greeted her with pitiful eyes, a hug, and a “I’m sorry, dear,” she _knew_ they were looking. After the woman had walked away, she whirled on her parents and glared.

 

“You _told_ people?!”

 

“Oh, Clarke. Don’t make a scene. These people have known you since you were a baby. They just worry.”

 

“They don’t _know_ me. They see me once a year at these godawful pissing contests. Besides, we’ve never been to this one. At least _I_ haven’t. They have no idea who I am.”

 

“It’s still the same people from our old one. Everyone switched over after the fire. We all love the new management here.”

 

Clarke looks around and snorts. She’s sure they did. It’s even more ridiculous than the one she’d grown up with. Waiters in white tuxes, string quartets playing through patriotic songs, boat shoes galore. Her parents were never _really_ a part of this scene. At least not at home. But as the community’s most respected surgeon and and political figured head, she knew they had to play the game.

 

But she sure as hell didn’t.

 

“You’ll be fine if we mingle?” Her mother has her hand on her shoulder and it feels stifling. She’s not broken, but that’s all anyone ever seems to see these days.  

 

“Mhm. Go, I’ll be fine.”

 

Abby pauses, warily. “And you’ll—“

 

“I’ll behave, mom.”

 

//

 

She’s not sure her mom would qualify this as behaving, but walking around the grounds unsupervised with only the calm, quiet of nature for company makes her feel more at ease then she’s been in weeks. Despite the oppressive quality of their worrying, there’s a large part of her that’s glad her parents had forced a homecoming to Colorado. The air is cleaner, crisper, lighter, even in the summer, and the mountains that can be seen almost everywhere make her feel small in the most freeing of ways.

 

A smile that feels young and familiar crosses her face when she comes across the club’s stables and finds a beautiful, white stallion watching her with calm, brown eyes. “Hey there,” she coos and approaches him slowly with practiced caution and ease. Riding had always been her favorite stereotype of being wealthy, always having found an incomparable peace while atop a horse. “You’re stunning,” she murmurs as she strokes the velvet of his nose. She looks around her, not out of worry of being caught, but out of curiosity. She has to admit this new country club couldn’t be situated in a more beautiful place in the mountains. She’s far enough out that she can’t hear the music and buzzing anymore, but she can see the lights of the club house off in the distance. From here it has a warm glow, soft and inviting. It’s ironic, but she enjoys the view, feeling as thought she were standing in a Colorado Living magazine.

 

She turns back to the horses and presses her face close to his strong jaw. He huffs against her in trust and contentment and she feels it shatter some of the hard things inside her. Though, there are plenty left to leave her feeling heavy. She sighs and pulls back to look at him. “You like it out here too, huh? Yeah. You’ve got the right idea.” She stretches over the stall to run her palm down his silky neck and again feels some tension leave through her finger tips.

 

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

 

Clarke jerks back and twirls around, catching her hand on the wood of the stall. She hisses and holds it close to her chest as she looks upon the stranger with wide, guilty eyes.

 

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay?”

 

It’s both disarming and settling to hear such profanities come out of such an immaculate woman. She’s dressed to impress in her tailored red slacks and blue blazer and frankly one of the most gorgeous human beings Clarke has seen in a long time. Both beautiful and handsome at the same time, Clarke finds herself enamored with the woman, enthralled for a brief moment before collecting herself. “Oh, yeah, I’m—“ she looks down at her hand, “bleeding, actually. I’m bleeding.” She laughs to herself and shakes her head both in frustration, embarrassment and an amusement that came from simply no longer having the ability to care.

 

“Bleeding? Oh god, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. Here, may I see?” The woman steps towards Clarke and she feels something warm and tingly shoot through her. She holds out her hand and when the woman takes it in the most gentle and caring of ways, she feels herself actually shutter. Though, just on the inside, thank god.

 “I’m Lexa,” the woman says as she glances over the cut.

 

“Clarke,” Clarke offers, holding her breath when Lexa’s thumb swipes across the cut.

 

“I don’t think it’s deep, let me just—“ the woman reaches into her blazer pocket and pulls out the white handkerchief that had been folded so perfectly there.

 

Clark yanks her hand back and shakes her head. “It’s okay, really. I don’t want to ruin that.”

 

“Please,” Lexa takes her hand back with such confidence it takes Clarke wonderfully by surprise, “it’s what it’s there for.”

 

“You expected to make a girl bleed tonight, did you?”

 

Lexa shrugs and doesn’t look up at her, “no, but I have the tendency to leave girls with a need for this.”

 

“Ah. Heartbreaker? Leave a trail of tears behind needing to be dried?”

 

Lexa smirks as she dabs at the cut. “Not exactly.”

 

“No?”

 

She let’s the hand drop and finally looks back up at her. “Not that kind of wet.” Clarke nearly misses the wink because she’s too busy spinning and wondering if it’s bad for a person’s health to blush so rapidly and violently. That, and Lexa’s eyes are really, really green.

 

//

 

She’s pleasantly tipsy by the time the sun begins to set and cast the sky in a dull pink and blue glow. The lantern Lexa had pulled from the stalls cast off warmly beside them and, given its real candle, warmed the side of her arm in a small, but comforting way. She turns lazily to look at the mass of brown curls Lexa had pulled out her pony tail when they’d laid down and smiles when she finds the woman already staring at her. “I forgot how chilly it gets in the mountains, even in the summer,” she murmurs.

 

Without a word, Lexa pushes up and peels off her blazer then lays it across Clarke’s stomach. As the woman lay back down, Clarke took in her newly revealed white dress shirt and wondered how such a plain thing could look so good. She let her head fall to the white shoulder once Lexa was back down and closed her eyes.

 

“You’re hurting,” Lexa states quietly and abruptly.

 

Clarke nods against her shoulder then turns her head and opens her eyes to the sky, now a shade darker.

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s complicated,” Clarke whispers. She lifts the bottle of scotch Lexa had been carrying with her when they stumbled upon each other and takes a long sip, then hands it over.

 

“Uncomplicate it.”

 

Clarke chuckles. “You’re forward.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

She thinks and turns back into Lexa’s shoulder, nuzzling her nose into the crisp but soft fabric. Lexa smells like expensive cologne and something clean, maybe laundry detergent, and it makes her feel safe.  “I got left at the alter.”

 

There’s a pause and then Lexa turns to look at her. Clarke looks up, meeting her eyes and sees her deliberating. It sounds wild, she knows, and she almost wished she were lying. She watches it click in Lexa’s mind that she’s anything but, and dreads the pity she knows to be coming.

 

But it never comes. Lexa only nods and let’s out a low, understanding breath. “Tough blow.” She takes a sip of the amber liquid and ‘ahh’-ed against the burn.

 

“That’s all you have to say? Tough blow?”

 

Lexa shrugs and passes the bottle. “I figure you get enough questions about it as it is. I asked why you’re hurting, and your answer is pretty self explainable.”

 

It’s wonderfully refreshing and yet somehow empty feeling. She realizes a second later it’s just that she likes the sound of Lexa’s voice and was under the impression that her confession would open up some endless, intimate conversation between the two of them. She nods and goes to bring the bottle to her lips, but changes her mind at the last minute and sets it aside. “Why are _you_ hurting?”

 

“Who says I’m hurting?”

 

“Who walks around outside of a party all alone with a bottle of scotch in their hand if they’re not hurting?”

 

Lexa chuckles and turns to look at her. Her gaze is admiring and penetrating in a way that makes Clarke ache. But it’s a good ache. One she’d though she’d lost long ago. The one that rippled in her stomach and surged lower until it tingled between her legs. It was an ache of desire, one she hadn’t felt with her own fiancé and in that moment she thought maybe she didn’t blame him for running away. She wouldn’t have wanted to marry her either. Lexa smiles that alarmingly charming and soft grin. “It’s complicated,” she mimics.

 

Clarke laughs and turns on her side, head propped on her elbow and hand. “Uncomplicate it.”

 

“I don’t want to put a damper on your night, Clarke.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes and smirks. “If anyone put a damper on my night it would _not_ be you.”

 

“Oh? Who would it be then?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe my parents who dragged me here. Or maybe the obnoxious, wealthy asshole ring leaders of this whole circus.”

 

Lexa snorts and reaches across Clarke to grab the bottle, her breath and lips dangerously close to her face. When she rolls back over, Clarke can’t take her eyes off of those lips.

 

“What do your parent do?”

 

Lexa takes a casual swig and Clarke feels her mouth dry at the way her tongue darts out to lick up the residue. “My mom’s a doctor. My dad, a senator.”

 

“A senator, huh? Big shot. What’s his name?”

 

“Griffin? Ja—“

 

“Jake Griffin? Yeah, wow. He’s got some great policies.”

 

Clarke smiles proudly and nods. “Yeah, he’s a good one, that one. The level-headed one of the clan. Not sure what to do with his crazy women, I think, but he tries. What do yours do?”

 

“My parents?”

 

Clarke hums in the affirmative and Lexa smiles out of the corner of her mouth, somewhat sheepishly, somewhat playfully. “They’re the obnoxious asshole ring leaders…”  She keeps a straight face until Clarke groans and rolls on her back, covering her face.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke moans. “Please tell me your joking.”

 

“I’m not. But hey--” her stomach hurts from laughing until she sees how truly embarrassed Clarke is. “Hey,” her laughter stills and she leans over and pries Clarke’s hands away from her face. “Don’t cover that. It’s stunning.”

 

Clarke cracks and eye open to look at her, then shuts it. “Hey,” Lexa says again, this time bringing a hand to the woman’s red face to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s okay.”

 

Clarke shakes her head, but opens her eyes. “ _I’m_ the ass.”

 

Lexa chuckles and scoots closer. Clarke thinks she meant to be subtle, and it probably would have been to anyone other than Clarke who felt every imperceptible movement of Lexa like a hot iron to her skin. “You’re not an ass. And you’re not wrong, either.”

 

“I’m sure they’re not that bad,” Clarke mumbles, still unable to look at her.

 

“Clarke, look at where we are.”

 

Clarke smiles without having to look and sighs. “It’s just not my scene. Nothing to do with your parents.”

 

“Well. It’s not my scene either. And it has everything to do with my parents.”

 

Clarke hears the sadness masked in the sarcasm and finally turns to look at her. Lexa’s eyes betray her, even in the dying light. “Are they why you’re hurting?”

 

Lexa rolls back onto her back and Clarke sees her jaw clench. She thinks she’s lost her until something on her cheek catches the light of the lantern. A tear, Clarke realizes. She brushes it away without really thinking and presses a whispering, but sure kiss to the track it leaves.

 

“My little brother was killed in a car accident last year,” Lexa’s voice cracks. “My parents were never really around growing up, though they tried.  But after that, they just. Gave up.”

 

“Oh, Lexa,” Clarke pulls on the woman until she rolls into her and holds her, both their inhibitions drowned and gone. Though neither of them felt particularly drunk. Perhaps it was less the alcohol and more the exhaustion. Too tired of hurting and being alone anymore, they clung to each other without reservation and with a familiarity and intimacy that came from having similar cracks in their hearts. Clarke rubs her back and she doesn’t feel any shaking, no more tears escape other than the one she’d wiped away, but Lexa feels like a stone against her. She’s not stiff or tense, just heavy and worn.

 

When Lexa finally pulls back it’s just enough to stare into her eyes before she pushes forward and kisses her. It’s gentle, but deep and needy. Clarke feels it in her chest, in her stomach, throbbing between her legs, and clouding her mind until she’s a mess of grasping, desperate hands and whimpering gasps. Her cheeks are wet when Lexa rolls her onto her back and hovers over her. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” It’s so sweet and gentle it makes her cry harder, but she bites her lip and nods anyways. “You sure? Is this okay? How much did your drink?”

 

Clarke reaches down and grasps Lexa’s hips before moving on to shimmy the white material out of her red slacks. Her hands find the warm skin of Lexa’s back in no time and she’s amazed by how comforting it is. Nothing about this is fast and hot and rough and careless the way she thinks an encounter like this normally should be, but it’s good. It’s nice and soothing and _she feels better._  “I’m not drunk,” she whispers and reaches up so that Lexa can taste the promise on her lips.

 

Lexa dips inside of her just as the fireworks start to go off and she finally falls apart, every hard thing inside her crumbling until she’s soft and completely pliant under Lexa’s sure hands. Lexa murmurs into her ear the whole time, excruciatingly sweet things that have Clarke feeling weepy and spent when she finally comes with a breathy whine and gasp of Lexa’s name.  She shivers and it has nothing to do with the cold, but she doesn’t tell Lexa that when the woman pulls her onto her chest and drapes the blazer over her. “I think you should stay,” she mutters and Clarke smiles.

 

“I don’t have a return ticket.”

 

Lexa nods and kisses her head. “Good. I think I’d like to get to know you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. July 4th 2016 Part II- July 5th 2016

Clarke wakes up to something lumpy and warm and it takes her a moment to realize it’s a body. _Lexa’s_ body. Her minds sobers slightly but her body remains heavy and languid and trumps all rational thought, so she just lays there, soaking it all up. Lexa is soft and warm and solid and holding her like they’ve done this for years.

 

Her phone pings somewhere off to the left and she lifts her head just enough to peer at the lit-up screen. She can tell she has several missed calls and texts, probably from her parents, but it’s too early and she’s too comfortable to care. She pushes up further and peers down at Lexa’s sleeping face. The woman looks soft in sleep, as if all the hard edges of her magnificent bone structure somehow round out under the silky, fine crown of fly-away curls that frame her face. Clarke brushes her hand over Lexa’s forehead and smoothes down some of the curls, finding comfort in the tenderness of the act. She hadn’t felt tenderness in so long she’d been wondering if she were even capable of it anymore. But the last twenty-four hours had shown her so much of it, it threated to leak out of her eyes again in the heavy tears she could still feel dried on her face from the previous night.

 

She’s lost in thought when she feels lips on her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, and smiles when they reach the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flutter close and she hums, again struck by how easy and familiar it feels. Lexa cups her cheek and kisses her breathless, and as if on cue, it begins to rain.

 

“There it is,” Lexa murmurs pulling away to look at the ceiling. “Was supposed to happen yesterday. My parent’s were a mess all day.”

 

Clarke smiles and nuzzles back down, enjoying the way her bare skin feels on Lexa’s in the sound of the rain against the windows. “I’m glad it didn’t. We may never have come.”

 

“Well that would’ve been the tragedy of the century, I think.”

 

Clarke nods and palm’s Lexa’s chest, her thumb skimming side to side absentmindedly.

 

“I think your parents are calling.”

 

“Let them call.”

 

“Clarke—“

 

Clarke buries her head in Lexa’s neck, avoiding whatever it is in the woman’s tone that makes her stomach churn. “Don’t,” she murmurs.

 

“We should talk about this.”

 

“Or we could just lay here.”

 

Lexa pushes up onto her elbows and slides out from under Clarke. She turns to her side and beckons Clarke closer, wrapping a reassuring hand around her hip and pushing their foreheads together. Then, she just breathes. Slowly and steadily in complete contrast with her racing heart. She raises her hand to Clarke’s face and caresses her cheek, as if silently promising to be gentle with her words. Clarke believes her too, but already feels herself pulling away. Lexa wraps an arm around her and pulls her back in.

 

“You scare me,” she whispers.

 

Clarke nods. “I know.” She’s scared too. “Tell me why.”

 

Lexa lips her lips and her voice comes out hoarse. “I don’t know if love at first sight is real. But if anyone were to make me think it, it’d be you.”

 

Clarke shushes her, then kisses her. “Don’t say things like that.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because, I was just beginning to think you might be real.”

 

 

//

 

Clarke’s whole body is trembling as her fingers dig into Lexa’s back. Her legs are wrapped tightly around Lexa’s waist, but she can’t seem to get close enough. She grips and pulls and kisses and gasps, but she wants to be closer.

 

“You’re so beautiful, Clarke” Lexa pants against her ear and Clarke feels it ripple through her and sting her eyes.

 

Clarkes arms come up to circle Lexa’s neck as she cries out, clenching and shuttering against her. She’s so close and Lexa is so good, the best she’s had, or maybe just the sweetest she’s had which to her feels like the same thing at this point. She feels it start, the spark between her legs that ebbs and flows but steadily builds. She tucks her face under Lexa’s chin and closes her eyes. She feels the tears coming again, but she holds them back. Instead she let’s out a trembling breath and kisses the straining muscles in Lexa’s neck. “You scare me too,” she whispers. She thinks it’s too quiet to be heard, but as she comes, Lexa squeezes her to her chest and whispers back, “we’ll be okay.” And she believes it.

 

//

 

“So—“ Clarke starts as she slides back into her dress. She grimaces as she feels and remembers the back of it wet from the sprinklers they’d been caught in running up the front yard to Lexa’s parent’s home.

 

“Here.” Lexa unfolds out of bed and struts over to her dresser, pulling out a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt. “I’d give you something nicer, but I’m not sure they’d fit.”

 

Clarke glances down at herself, almost ashamed, but then Lexa’s hands are on her and she presses lingering kisses around her face. “You’re beautiful, Clarke. I’m just built like a boy. No hips. Skin and bones,” she says with a wink, then flops down on the end of the bed.

 

Clarke smiles shyly and places herself between Lexa’s legs. She runs her hands down from Lexa’s jaw, over her shoulders and along her arms. “Skin and bones and muscle,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes.

 

Lexa hums and her head tilts back, enjoying the touch.

 

“Come to my parent’s house tonight. They’re having a BBQ.”

 

“A BBQ? On July 5th?”

 

Clarke chuckles and strokes the tops of Lexa’s ears, never wanting to move her hands, but wanting to explore every body part. “Yes. It’s a tradition. My dad started it when I was little. Said he got sick of not being able to have real conversations with people on July 4th because they’re too plastered, so he started the Griffin July 5th Try Again BBQ. He doesn’t even have to send out invites anymore. People just know to come.”

 

Lexa smiles and nods like she’s impressed and pulls Clarke in so that she can rest her head on her stomach. “I’m not sure I should go,” she says quietly after a moment of thought.

 

Clarke sinks and fears that it’s already beginning. The polite rejections that turn in to unreturned phone calls that turn into their ‘something’ vanishing into ‘nothing’ so subtly and quickly she doesn’t even notice until it’s over.

 

Lexa must feel her tense because she looks up at her and pulls her down into her lap. “I’m just not sure how that would look to your parents. Your fiancé…it happened, what, a month ago? I don’t want…I don’t want them to see us and think I’m jumping onto a vulnerable woman’s bandwagon.”

 

Clarke plays with a strand of Lexa’s hair, avoiding her eyes. “Aren’t you, though?”

 

“What?”

 

“Jumping onto my vulnerable bandwagon?”

 

“I don’t—“ Lexa stops and her brow furrows just about as hard as she swallows. “If I am, I’m not meaning to, Clarke. If that’s what I’m doing, we’ll stop. I’ll stop. You just. You have to tell me.”

 

“I just don’t know what this is,” Clarke mutters, finally looking into Lexa’s eyes and feeling both relief and sadness at the fear mirrored back at her. “I’ve never felt this before.”

 

“What’s it feel like?”

 

“This,” Clarke gestures between them and struggles for the words. “I don’t know. This. This connection or whatever it is.”

 

Lexa grins. “Love at first sight?”

 

Clarke nods. “Yeah,” she breathes, “maybe.”

 

 

//

 

Clarke shows Lexa her childhood room and tries to unpack the feelings that swirl dizzily around inside her as she watches Lexa take in her art on the wall. “You’re incredible, Clarke,” she says and Clarke feels herself swoon.  “I can see why—“ but then the woman stops and shakes her head ever so slightly.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Clarke comes to stand beside Lexa and hooks her arm into hers, leaning her head on her shoulder. “What?” She repeats. “You can see why what?”

 

“I can just see how your gallery investor turned into your fiancé. I’d fall in love with you with that art too.” She mutters.

 

Clarke swallows but doesn’t feel any sadness and she thinks that’s probably what the problem was. She should have been devastated standing there at the alter, waiting, waiting, waiting only to find out he’d never shown and hopped on a plane instead. She was devastatingly embarrassed, sure, sad for a few days, of course, but the overwhelming sensation had been relief. And that’s what was eating at her. What was wrong with her? “I thought you said it was love at first sight, already,” she tries to joke but it comes out a little pinched.

 

“That’s true,” Lexa says quietly. “Though, these certainly help.”

 

Clarke emits something between a laugh and a hum and leans into her further, momentarily distracted by her tortured inner dialogue. “I’m glad you like them.”  

 

//

 

“We thoroughly enjoyed your parent’s function last night, Lexa,” Abby says graciously as she fills Lexa’s glass up. “Were you there? I’m not sure I spotted you.”

 

Lexa meets Clarke’s eyes over the woman’s shoulder and smiles. “Yes, I was there. I was…in and out.”

 

Clarke nearly chokes on her sip of red wine and quickly grabs a napkin to wipe off her chin.

 

Abby nods and chats a little longer, then returns to her mingling in the back around the pool. The fairy lights give everything a nice glow, and Clarke watches Lexa chat with people, completely at ease. It makes her wonder, not for the first time, what kind of work Lexa does when she isn’t visiting her parents.  Her eyes widen when she sees her father approach her and shake her hand. She crosses the space between them quickly and lands protectively by Lexa’s side. Lexa gives her nothing more than a quick smile and returns to talking with her father.

 

“Clarke tells me you’re living in LA as well. What are the odds?”

 

Lexa smiles and again looks over at Clarke, a warm tint to her eyes. “Yes, it’s a small world it seems. I was glad to hear that this wouldn’t be goodbye when we both return from our vacations.”

 

Jake eyes them for a long moment that makes Clarke’s breath catch. He always did have a knack for knowing more than he’s meant to. Finally, he smiles and nods. “So it seems. It was nice to meet you, Ms. Woods. Please, enjoy your night.”

 

“Thank you, Senator. Same to you.”

 

When he’s gone, Clarke collapses against her and sighs audibly. “That was weird,” she breathes.

 

Lexa just chuckles and rubs her back before enveloping herself back into the life of the party. Clarke watches her go with something new and wonderful in her chest. Thought it doesn’t last long.

 

//

 

“He was such a lovely boy. What shame. You know Clarke, some men just aren’t made for it. You’ll find another one, dear.”

 

Clarke burns bright red, her eyes glued to her wine glass as she forces herself to nod because it’s polite and she can feel her mother’s eyes on her.  Even worse, she can feel Lexa staring at her from across the fire pit and all she wants to do is disappear.

 

“I’m just so surprised we didn’t see it sooner. You were with the boy for almost ten years! He always seemed the committed type. That Finn Collins used to follow her around like a love-struck puppy,” Mrs. Margaret, the Griffin’s seventy-year-old neighbor chortles.

 

“You remember the day he blasted that radio outside their house keeping the whole street up? God, what a kid. I can’t believe you two aren’t an item anymore. Doesn’t seem right, does it?” More chime in from the gray heads who don’t seem to know any better or can’t seem to help themselves and she finds herself on her feet moments later.

 

“Clarke?” Her mother addresses her with worry in her voice, but it’s not worry for her, it’s worry for the scene she _knows_ Clarke wants to cause.

 

“I—“ she looks at her mother’s furrowed brow and pleading eyes and sighs. “Please, excuse me for a moment” she says gracefully and leaves.

 

 

 

Lexa finds her shortly after on the front entryway steps with her head in her hands. “Hey.”

 

Clarke jumps, but visibly slackens when she sees who it is. “Oh, hey. I’m sorry. I just needed a breather.”

 

“Understandable.” Lexa joins her on the steps and sways into her. “Here,” she says, holding out a mason jar.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“A mason jar.”

 

Clarke snorts. “Yeah, well I know that. Why do you have it?”

 

“Thought it might cheer you up.”

 

The question in Clarke’s eyes goes unvoiced when Lexa stands up and swipes at the air. She brings back a loose fist and flattens it over the mouth of the jar until something small plops in and begins to glow.

 

Clarke lets out the smallest of gasps, a light flutter erupting in her chest. “Lighting bugs!”

 

Lexa chuckles and pulls Clarke up, handing her the jar. “I couldn’t find a lid, so keep your hand over it.”

 

Clarke nods and peers at the little bug already in there.

 

“I used to do this with Aden.”

 

“Aden?”

 

“My brother.” Clarke’s face starts to fall but Lexa shakes her head and tucks a strand of loose hair behind Clarke’s ear. “It’s okay. It’s a happy memory.”

 

Clarke nods. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

 

Lexa smiles warmly and they both forget about their troubles for a while, lost in the cool evening breeze, the glow of the lightning bugs, and the endless eruptions of giggles, hugs that nearly topple them over, and light kisses that make their cheeks burn.

 

They collapse against a large oak in the front yard long after the sky has gone black, breathless and abuzz. Lexa pulls Clarke against her chest and Clarke is reminded of the night before, though it feels like forever ago now. “Do you think this can last?” She asks, tangling their fingers together.

 

“What, the bugs? No, we should let them go tonight.”

 

Clarke chuckles and shakes her head. “No, I meant…this. Us.”

 

Lexa props her chin atop Clarke’s head and sighs. “I think so. I hope so.”

 

“Can things like this actually work? Two broken people connecting like this because their broken pieces match? It feels a little romantic doesn’t it?”

 

“What’s wrong with romantic?”

 

“You’re asking the girl whose fiancé left her at the alter.”

 

A silence hangs between them, but it’s not uncomfortable, just a little heavy.

 

“I didn’t know you were together for so long. I thought he was your investor,” Lexa finally mutters softly. It’s not an accusation, just a question.

 

“He was. But he was also my high school sweetheart. I leave that part out because it makes me a little less pathetic, don’t you think?”

 

Lexa turns and presses a soft, but firm kiss to Clarke’s head. “You’re not pathetic, Clarke.”

 

“Aren’t I? I mean, what could possibly be so wrong with me that my boyfriend of ten years leaves me standing in front of my friends and family, with no warning, looking like an ass?” Her voice cracks and she surprises herself with how much it actually _does_ hurt. Though, the pain has nothing really to do with his loss and everything to do with just how much it had hurt her self-esteem. She’d never been self-conscious, never really been one to rely on other people’s feelings for her own self worth. She’s fiercely independent and remarkably confident. And yet, it aches like no other to remember that day. All those eyes looking upon her with pity that still hasn’t seemed to stop.

 

“Sounds like more of a question of what’s wrong with him. Not you.”

 

Clarke snorts. “You don’t even know me, Lexa.” It’s a little harsh and she regrets it the second she feels Lexa shift away from her ever so slightly. She leans in to compensate and nuzzles against her shoulder as if in apology.

 

“No, I don’t. But I’d like to,” Lexa whispers against her hair.

 

She hates the way Lexa is able to make her cry so easily. She hates feeling so vulnerable and weepy and small. Yet, when Lexa wraps an arm around her and pulls her in tightly, she almost doesn’t mind her wet cheeks.

 

“I think that’s the only way it works,” Lexa mutters after a second.

 

Clarke sniffs and raises her head. “What?”

 

“Two people’s broken pieces fitting together to make them whole again. I don’t think it’s a question of whether it _can_ work. I think it’s the _only_ way it works, Clarke.”

 

The notion blooms inside of her, and when Lexa removes her hand from atop the jar and the little bleeps of light go releasing into the air, Clarke feels her pain releasing with them.

 

//

 

She stays in Colorado for another three weeks. It’s the same amount of time it takes for Lexa to finish up her visit with her parents and pack her car, now filled with articles of clothing that don’t belong to her, and artwork freshly painted, waiting to be hung.

 

When Lexa pulls into her driveway, the passenger seat empty and waiting for her, Clarke feels a blip of fear on her radar. It feels too good and she feels too happy. She’s waiting for it to all come crashing down, for her to wake up in her Los Angeles bed all alone, this whole vacation having been a dream. But then, Lexa jumps out of the car and pecks her on the cheek before grabbing her suitcase and loading it into the trunk, rambling on happily about pit stops and scenic routes and snacks.

 

Lexa stills when she’s met with Clarke’s silence and turns to look over her shoulder. “You okay?”

 

Clarke nods and stares at her hands as she takes a step forward. “I just…”

 

Lexa takes her cheeks in her hands and gently raises her head. “what, babe?”

 

“I just need to you to tell me again that this is real. We’re real.”

 

Lexa smiles and kisses her, gentle and deep and promising. “It’s all real, Clarke.”


	3. Epilogue

September 4th 2016

 

“No, Lexa!” Clarke never shouts. Certainly not at Lexa, but when the woman hands her an envelope and Clarke opens it, that’s all she can do.

 

Lexa’s face falls and her brow creases in hurt and confusion. “I—I thought…”

 

Clarke throws the envelope at her chest and storms out of her kitchen, all the way to her bedroom where she slams the door and falls to the bed.

 

She’s not mad, really. She’s scared more than anything. Repeats play in her mind as Lexa follows in his steps, one by one. The candle lit dinner, the surprise, then the reveal. The only difference is that when she’d opened Lexa’s envelope, she hadn’t squealed with delight, she’d yelled. And it wasn’t Finn staring back at her with a blinding smile, scooping her up and twirling her around. It was Lexa, looking devastated and confused.

 

Clarke’s stomach clenches with guilt and she moves to get off the bed and return to Lexa, pull her in for a hug and apologize for her over-reaction. But there’s a small knock on the door before she can do anything. She doesn’t move from her fetal position, but she looks over her shoulder and murmurs “come in.”

 

For a second, she thinks Lexa might not. There’s a long pause and she just stares at the door waiting for it to move, wondering what’s happening on the other side. Whether Lexa is crying or breathing heavily the way she does when she’s angry. “Lex?”

 

At the sound of her name, Lexa finally pushes the door open, her face trained on her hands. “Can I come in?” She asks so quietly Clarke thinks she may have imagined it.

 

Clarke sniff and nods, sitting up in the time it takes Lexa to cross the room and plant herself hesitantly on the bed. She’s not sure who’s supposed to talk first, but when she hears Lexa let out a tormented, shuttering breath, she feels the immediate need to comfort her. Lexa’s back is to her, curved and dejected, so she scoots forward and presses her cheek against it, nuzzling and kissing gently until Lexa’s shoulders release ever so slightly.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Clarke can’t tell if Lexa is quiet or crying and it scares her. She’s never made Lexa cry, she realizes, and the prospect of having maybe just done so nearly splits her in half. Her baggage is a lot more than she’d realized the month ago when they’d met, and now she feels like she just flings it around haphazardly whenever something triggers her memory. And Lexa’s paying for it.  Clarke wraps her arms around her middle, as if begging her to stay despite her issues. She breathes in Lexa’s smell, the rich cologne and fresh linen smell that seems to always be there, and feels herself sooth with one whiff.

 

“No, I should be the sorry one. I overreacted.”

 

Lexa shakes her head and unclasps Clarke’s hand at her stomach. Clarke sinks and tries to steel herself for the inevitability she thinks is coming when she feels the bed dip with Lexa’s departure.

 

But as usual, Lexa surprises her. With her head dropped and eyes closed, Clarke feels Lexa before she sees her. Lexa cups her cheeks and raises her head, then kisses her gently on the forehead. “I overstepped,” she murmurs, “you have nothing to be sorry about. I presumed and it hurt you. And I never want to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

 

Clarke brings her hands to rest over Lexa’s on her cheeks and shakes her head as she looks up at her. “You didn’t overstep,” she whispers. “It’s just…Finn…he did the same thing and,” her voice cracks and she hates herself for it. “I saw it happening again.”

 

Lexa nods and pulls her into her chest, holding her there like she’s done so many times. “It’s okay, Clarke. I understand.”

 

They sit there like that for a while, Lexa rocking Clarke and Clarke burying her face in Lexa’s neck until her shutters finally die down. “I’m sorry,” says again, and Lexa only kisses her.

 

“Don’t be sorry. Okay?”

 

Clarke nods and wipes her face against her sleeve. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be an investor. It’s just…I think that’s why Finn left. I think he hated how much time I spent painting and at the gallery. He hated that I loved it so much...” _so much more than him._

 

Lexa, ever calm, ever gentle, nods and rubs Clarke’s back, watching her and deliberating. “I will do whatever you want me to, Clarke. If you want me to back out, I will, without question. But I want you to know, first, that I would never resent you for following your passions. I can’t promise I won’t miss you when you get into your week-long inspiration benders, but I will always support you through them.”

 

Clarke chuckles and wipes at her eyes again. “You always do.”

 

Lexa hums and pushes Clarke’s hair out of her face. “I have to run back into work. I got a text, but it shouldn’t take long. We can keep talking later, okay?”

 

 

Clarke doesn’t say much more until she hears the front door close. But with the sound of the latch, something spikes in her and she dashes for the door, throws it open and darts into the hall. She stops Lexa just as she’s getting in the elevator and pulls her into a crushing embrace.

 

“Hey,” Lexa coos, her hands running up and down Clarke’s back, partly in worry, partly in habit, and mostly in love. “What’s going on?”

 

Clarke shakes her head briefly against Lexa’s chest then pulls away with a long awaited sigh of relief. “I want you to be an investor, Lex. No one supports my art like do and no one understands my vision like you do. I would crazy not to have someone like you on board.”

 

 

Lexa smiles and takes Clarke’s hands into hers. “Okay, love. You sure?”

 

“Yes. More than anything.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

October 5th 2016

 

The music thumps wildly around them, but all Clarke can feel is Lexa’s pelvis pressing into her ass and her lips on her neck. She’d felt a little old at first walking into the club, surrounded by college students clad in almost nothing. But with a few drinks in her and Lexa’s hands roaming her body like she wants to feel everywhere all at once, Clarke has significantly relaxed. “ _Let go,_ ” Lexa husks into her ear. Oh, she’s definitely letting go. Perhaps too much. She feels herself burning too quickly, working up to high, too hard with Lexa behind her, grinding into her, nipping at her neck and ear and anything else she can reach.

 

She twirls around and stills Lexa’s hands, gripping them as she presses their lips together. She feels pride when she pulls back and finds Lexa’s completely mesmerized and flush. She smiles and leans into her ear. “I need a drink.”

 

Lexa turns to catch Clarke’s own ear, cutting through the blaring music, “What would you like?”

 

“Oh, no I can get it,” Clarke says, not having meant to sound like she was demanding it.

 

Lexa shakes her  head and kisses her, dismissing it. “I got you, baby. What do you want? I’m gonna refill, too.”

 

“Scotch on the rocks,” she says with a grin, knowing what Lexa will say.

 

“That’s my girl. Stealing my drink.”

 

Clarke laughs and shrugs. “What can I say? You have good taste.” She presses in and nips and licks at Lexa’s lower lip with a wink.  “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she says when she pulls back.

 

“Alright, be careful. I’ll be at the bar.”

 

 

True to her word, Clarke does find her at the bar. At the bar and surrounded by women who touch her arm, toy with her shirt and giggle at every word that comes out of her mouth.

 

Clarke would normally feel angry. If it had been Finn, she would have been angry. But when she watches Lexa, she feels small and awkward and uncomfortable. Like she’s the the short, chubby girl with glasses and paint on her clothes in middle school all over again. She swallows hard and tries to tell herself to look at the way Lexa looks over them, eyes searching. For her. _For you._ She tries to focus on the way Lexa smiles politely, but ignores their advances, gently but firmly batting away their hands and peeling them from her arm.

 

Habits are hard to break, though. And experience can be harsh. She thought she’d never trust again the day she found out Finn had not only left her at the alter, but had been cheating on her the whole time as well. Lexa had walked in minutes after Clarke had heard, found her in tears on the bed and held her, promising her, assuring her, kissing and hugging and soothing her. Within hours, Clarke knew she _would_ in fact trust again, knew she already did trust Lexa, but it was hard. Times like these made it so hard it hurt.

 

She swallows back tears as she shoots Lexa a text before leaving. She gets a call just moments after stepping in the cab.

 

_“Where are you?”_

Clarke sighs and rubs at her eyes. “I’m going home.”

 

 _“Yeah, I got that from your text, but **where** are you?” _Lexa’s voice sounds hard and annoyed and Clarke thinks it’s at her until she hears Lexa snapping at someone in the background. _“Just give me the check, I’m leaving. No—just—fucking fine. Put them on my tab if it will get me out of her faster.”_ Then her voice goes soft and gentle. “ _Clarke? Are you there sweetheart?”_

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from her throat clenching.

 

“ _Where are you, baby?_ _What’s going on?”_

“I’m in a cab. I just…didn’t feel well.” It’s not a lie, but it still burns falsely on her tongue.

 

_“Have you left yet?”_

_“_ Yeah, but we’re still close.”

 

_“What street are you on?”_

Clarke peers out the window and spots a sign at the stoplight. She shyly tells Lexa and holds her breath.

 

_“Okay. Please wait there, Clarke. Please. I’ll come get you with the car and I’ll take you home and we can talk.”_

 

 

Except they don’t talk. They sit at Clarke’s dining room table, Lexa stretched across the top of it to hold Clarke’s hand in silence.

 

Clarke feels so broken she’s nauseous. She feels ashamed and guilty and insecure and everything that makes her skin hot in all the wrong ways.

 

“I’m gonna have to go feed the meter in a second,” Lexa says softly and Clarke just nods, her eyes still in her lap. “Clarke.”

 

Clarke stares harder, her lip beginning to tremble. “I’m sorry,” she gasps quietly. “I—I’m sorry.”

 

Lexa stands wordlessly, crosses over to her, picks her up off the chair, kisses away Clarke’s whimpers and pulls her over to the couch until she is cocooned on top of her. She strokes Clarkes back and nuzzles into her hair, doing everything she can think of to comfort her. It’s heartbreaking, the way Clarke can go from so happy to so sad so quickly. It’s heartbreaking and familiar and all Lexa wants to do is take care of her. “I want to take your pain away,” she whispers, more to herself than anything.

 

Clarke sighs. “You do. That’s the problem.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because,” Clarke whimpers, “you make me so happy and I don’t know what I’d do without you. But if you’re always having to do this…always dealing with my shit…who wants that? No one. No one wants that and I’m so scared…” she pauses and remembers the women hanging off of Lexa. “It’d be so much easier to be with someone else.” 

 

The silence eats her alive because it’s long enough she thinks Lexa may be considering her words. Perhaps she had given her the idea. Perhaps she hadn’t realized how hard it was to be with Clarke until Clarke had said so. She tucks her forehead into Lexa’s chest and waits, trying to remember what this feels like for when it’s gone.

 

“I don’t want easy, Clarke.” It’s so quiet it almost doesn’t make it into the room, but Clarke feels it more than hears it. “I want love.”

 

Clarke slowly pushes herself up to get a good look at Lexa, her heart pounding faster than she knows is healthy. “Love?”

 

Lexa nods. “Yes. That’s all I want. You and love.”

 

Clarke’s eyes brim and she swallows. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then, you have that. You have me and…you have my love.”

 

Lexa smiles and kisses her, soft and gentle as always, in the way that makes Clarke woozy and tingly and warm. “Good, because I love you,” Lexa murmurs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

November 4th 2016

 

“Hey, baby, I’m here!” Lexa rushes into the gallery and tosses her briefcase on a table in the entry way. She rolls up her sleeves and looks up to find Clarke perched precariously on a ladder in the middle of the cavernous, converted factory. “What do you need me to do?”

 

“Lex! Hey, you’re early!” Clarke carefully treads down the ladder and jumps to Lexa before she’s reached the ground. Lexa catches her with ease and kisses her like they’ve never done it before and Clarke hums until her smiling forces the kiss apart and they pull away.

 

“Your text sounded urgent, so I got off early.”

 

“You’re seriously the best.” Clarke wipes her sweaty brow and flops her hands in exasperation. “That light went out. I’ve been trying to change it, but the bulb is weird and still hot, and I can barely reach it, so—“

 

“Hey,” Lexa takes the new bulb from Clarkes hand and silences her with a quick peck, “I got this. Go do your thing.”

 

 

And Clarke does, with ease. Within hours the gallery is packed and alive with people who ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at Clarke’s work. As Clarke flits back and forth among people chatting and laughing and analyzing with them, Lexa can’t help but smile. Clarke is stunning like this, full of grace and radiance in her element. She watches her from her place in the back near the drinks, far enough to be out of the way, close enough to admire and help in anyway Clarke might need.

 

For most of the night Clarke gravitates back to her every few rounds she makes and it’s always the same. A giddy smile, a hop and a skip until she’s wrapping her arms around her, a kiss and some excited rambling that Lexa tries to keep up with as best she can. When Clarke stills, Lexa smiles and brushes some hair out of the bubbling woman’s face, her gaze soft and full of admiration. “I’m so proud of you,” she says and melts at the way Clarke flushes.

“Thanks, babe. I couldn’t have done it with out you.”

 

Lexa pulls her in and kisses her on the head. “Yes you could have. But I’m happy to help. Now go, I think someone’s eyeing your blue bird.” 

 

Clarke turns and sees a man staring at one of her larger paintings and lets out a steadying breath. She nods and gives Lexa’s hand a squeeze before taking off.

 

 

 

Lexa watches her walk over, then refills her drink, taking a lap around the beautifully rustic building to admire the work herself. She’d seen it all before, but it takes on a whole new light up on the walls under the special bulbs she’d personally ordered months before. She smiles and swells with pride as she passes the murmurings of praise from patrons as they gaze at Clarke’s work, and even though there’s a part of her that wants to stay forever to listen and watch and experience, there’s another part of her that desperately wants to take Clarke home to show her just how proud she is, just how much she loves and admires her.

 

She finds Clarke in front of her painting of Aden and her smile falls. Clarke is visibly upset, feeling cornered and looking around desperately, _for her,_ Lexa realizes and quickens her pace.

 

“Clarke.”

 

Clarke whips around, her eyes wide with relief, and steps into Lexa’s side. “Lexa. This…this is Finn.”

 

Clarke can feel Lexa harden under her fingertips and she leans into her further, telling herself it’s to calm Lexa down but knowing full well it’s for her own comfort.

 

Lexa’s eyes track Finn’s as he looks her up and down, gaging and sizing.

 

“You must be Lexa Woods, the new investor.”

 

“She’s my girlfriend, Finn,” Clarke corrects in a tone harsh around the edges, but Lexa knows Clarke well enough to hear the pain in the center.

 

Finn lets out a choked sort of chuckle and nods. “Wow. That’s, uh…fast. You move on quickly, then.”

 

“ _Quickly?”_ Clarke reels backwards and shakes her head. “Quickly? Finn…are you…you can’t be serious. You’re going to sit here and judge _me_ and my heart after what _you_ did?”

 

“Oh, jesus, Clarke. I did us a favor. Don’t act like it hurt.”

 

Clarke moves to take a step forward, but Lexa gives her hip a gentle, grounding squeeze. Clarke scoffs. “Hurt? You think it didn’t—“ she huffs in disbelief and rubs roughly at her eyes. “You broke my heart! You _left_ me. In a dress, in front of everyone, with _nothing_. After ten years, Finn. Ten years!” Her voice cracks and she looks around quickly, embarrassed and wanting to disappear.

 

Lexa is stiff beside her. She’s trying to be supportive, but her mind is churning a mile a minute. She knows it’s over, knows what Finn did and how Clarke feels, knows Clarke loves her, but there’s a part of her that had hoped Clarke would agree with Finn. She’d thought that maybe, just maybe, Clarke would chuckle and nod and agree that it hadn’t hurt because she hadn’t loved him. She hates herself for it, feeling guilty and selfish and young, but she can’t stop it as she stares at the man who’d been with Clarke for ten years, known her for so long, two peas in a pod as Clarke neighbors had described, and she feels suddenly inadequate. Intimidated, even.  She looks over at Clarke whose tears don’t seem to stop, and forces herself out of her own head. She places her hand on Clarke’s back before tuning to Finn.

 

“Mr. Collins, we’d like you to go,” she says politely, but firmly and with a hint of venom that threatens to be more if he opposes.

 

“Look,” Finn raises his hands in surrender, “I just wanted to congratulate you, Clarke. We worked hard to get you here and I’m glad to see you did.”

 

Clarke sputters in anger too hot to manifest into words and turns away while Lexa shuffles him out as discreetly as possible. She knows how important it is for Clarke not to have a scene, so she walks him to the door, thanks him for coming with nothing but threats in her eyes and watches him all the way down the street until he disappears.

 

Clarke is glued to her side the rest of the night, always touching and leaning, searching for reassuring touches that Lexa gives her with warmth and devotion and an eagerness that helps to quell some of Lexa’s own rising insecurities.

 

They hold hands over the console of Lexa’s silver Range Rover on the way home, but Lexa’s grip is light and distracted.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Lexa glances over at her and tries for a smile. “Nothing. Why?”

 

“You’re quiet.”

 

“Just tired.” Lexa feels the lie burn on her tongue and removes her hand from Clarke’s to place it on the wheel. Clarke let’s her and they ride home in a strange and unusual silence that makes them both fidgety because it is so blaringly loud and obvious.

 

 

Lexa is still quiet, even as she presses Clarke into the bed that night. Her sounds are soft and distracted and trying so hard, but Clarke knows her too well. She can feel the way Lexa’s normally confident touch is hesitant, the way her eyes avoid, and her lips retreat too quickly.

 

“Hey,” Clarke cups Lexa’s cheek and drags her gaze upwards, “where are you?”

 

“I’m right here,” Lexa whispers and goes to kiss her quiet, but Clarke anticipates and lowers her head to the pillow, inching out of Lexa’s reach.

 

“You’re not, Lex. Talk to me. Please?”

 

Lexa swallows and shakes her head. “It’s silly.”

 

“Not if it’s upsetting you.” Clarke palms at Lexa’s bare ribs and nudges her over so that she’s on her side, then tucks herself into Lexa’s curve and draws back to look at her. “What’s going on?”

 

Lexa takes a deep breath, deliberating on whether to speak or not, but Clarke nudges her in encouragement, so she sighs and shrugs. “I just—“ she clears her throat and sighs, “seeing you with Finn tonight made me think.” She feels Clarke stiffen and instantly wants to take it back. She feels guilty again, but she can’t help herself. She looks at her girlfriend, so warm and soft and attentive beside her and wants more than anything to just be hers. And she knows she is, in general, but their relationship had been a whirlwind of intense connection and fast love that was amazing and beautiful, but young.

 

“Think what?” Clarke asks, her voice small and worried.

 

“Just that…I don’t know. Just that…” She stops and lets out a frustrated sigh and Clarke softens, her hand coming up to the sooth Lexa, poor sweet and gentle but perpetually stoic, Lexa.

 

“What, love?”

 

“Honestly?”

 

Clarke hums and strokes at Lexa’s cheek.

 

“I got jealous.”

 

Clarke blinks. “Jealous?”

 

Lexa hates to admit it, but she nods and feels her throat tighten. “It’s just…you’ve changed my life and I can’t imagine it without you…”

 

Clarke chuckles,  “And what’s wrong with that?”

 

Lexa turns her face and presses it into the pillow. She mumbles something and Clarke would’ve laughed again if not for the obvious struggle emanating off of Lexa. “What was that?”  

 

Lexa peeks out from the pillow and sighs. “Ten years is hard to compete with.”

It takes Clarke so by surprise she’s speechless for a good several seconds. She only snaps out of it once she hears Lexa shuffling away from her and moving to get out of bed. She grabs at Lexa before she can leave and pulls her back down, “hey, hey, hey” she murmurs, “it’s okay. Hey. Look at me.”

 

Lexa does as she’s told, but only momentarily. Clarke’s only seen her like this once before, so unsure and skittish and _sad._ It’d been in Lexa’s parent’s home, a week or so after their encounter in the field at the country club. Clarke had stumbled into Aden’s room looking for the bathroom and Lexa had found her there, admiring the boy’s artwork. _“He would have loved you,”_ Lexa had said on her knees, crying against Clarke’s stomach. _“He wanted to be an artist.”_

“Lexa, baby,” she mutters, vying for Lexa’s eyes, but getting only an embarrassed and upset whine pressed into her chest instead. Clarke chuckles and strokes her hair, fighting the desire to just let Lexa lay there, their warm skin pressed to each other. “Lexa…” she pauses and tries to think of what to say. “Finn and I…were puppy love. We were best friends in the beginning of high school and just sort of fell into a relationship because we were already close and both going through some things. The problem was that it never went beyond that, so we grew out of each other. Ya know?”

 

Lexa nods but stays buried in Clarke’s chest.

 

“Lex…what can I do?” She continues to rub Lexa’s back until Lexa’s hand trailing up her thigh makes her jump and giggle. She bats the hand away and nudges her. “Hey, uh uh, we’re not done talking.”

 

Lexa groans and turns on her back, throwing her arm over her face. “I feel like an ass.”

 

“Why, baby?”

 

“ _Because._ ”

 

“Lexa. That’s not helpful.”

 

“Because I wish it had been _me._ I wish it had been me who had been with you and known you in high school and who held a radio up to your window and kept the whole neighborhood up. I wish I had known you when you were falling in love with art and dreaming of a gallery and it had been me who invested first. It’s so fucking stupid, but I’m just… _god,_ I’m so jealous that he got all that and then just threw it away. Does he not get how fucking _privileged_ he was to know you and be with you? What a fucking waste.” She smacks the bed and gets up angrily and storms into the bathroom before Clarke can stop her.

 

Not that Clarke could even if she had wanted too. She’s too stunned, floored by Lexa’s outburst, never having seen Lexa so passionate before, at least not when she was the subject. She’d never known anyone to be so jealous of her, not in this way. Finn was possessive, sure, but Lexa, loving, calm, sweet Lexa, who rarely got mad, was enraged because she wanted that time with Clarke. She wanted to do it better and support her they way that, Clarke realizes in that moment, she’d always wished to have been. And she knows that Lexa would have. For Clarke, that’s more than enough. The thoughts bubble inside her, filling her with pride and love and gratitude that surges through her and jumpstarts the tingling in her body that had started earlier with Lexa on top of her.   

 

She doesn’t even knock, just s through the door, grabs Lexa’s face in her hands and kisses her hungrily, devotedly, passionately and full of love. “I love you so fucking much, Lexa Woods,” she swears and promises and urges against her lips. “So, so much.”

 

Lexa cups her face and presses in with so much fervor Clarke feels herself shatter in all the best ways possible. “I’m sorry I was jealous,” she pants between greedy sucks and nips.

 

“I’m sorry it wasn’t you. I wish it had been you.” Clark’s smiling when she pulls away, but her eyes are wet and wide. “It would have been better with you,” she whispers. She wraps her hand around the back of Lexa’s neck and pulls her back in.

 

“Five months,” Lexa whispers when they part again for air.

 

“Hm?”

 

“It’s been five months since I found you sniffing around my horses.”

 

Clarke laughs and drops to Lexa’s shoulder. “Okay, first of all they were your _parent’s_  horses _,_ second of all, I wasn’t sniffing around, I was admiring.”

 

“So was I,” Lexa smiles.

 

Clarke stares with a goofy grin then shakes her head. “That was cheesy.”

 

Lexa chuckles and nods, pulling Clarke back in never happier.  


End file.
